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Three
The body was cold and lifeless, the girl's face pale and solemn in death. I watched as Will circled the girl's body.
"Whoever tucked Elise Nichols into bed didn't paint this picture," Will stated, his voice slow and shaky. I moved behind the punctured body and lowered myself to the ground, seeing everything from a new angle as my pencil darted and danced across the paper in front of me. I shaded and examined as best I could in bright sunshine.
"There's nothing beautiful in this picture, no respect, no admiration…" I stated, still lying on the dry grass in front of the body. Will moved closer to see from my perspective, Jack following behind him.
"This girl's killer thought she was a pig," Will finalised, glancing swiftly down at the diagram drawn across my paper.
"Are we agreed?" I asked, glancing up towards Will, shielding the sun from my eyes.
He nodded frantically, removing his glasses and scrunching his eyes together tightly, "A different cannibal, a different killer."
"Whoever this is, there's a good chance he'll never kill like this again," I added.
"An intelligent psychopath, particularly a sadist, is very hard to catch. There'll be no traceable motive, no pattern," Will said as I stood up from my position in the grass, picking up the drawing I had frantically sketched and marking a few notes on the side.
"What do you suggest?" Jack asked, more so out of politeness than anything else.
"You seemed impressed with Dr Lecter's opinion, have him draw up a psychological profile," Will stormed off past Jack, leaving myself to stand awkwardly beside him.
"I was under the impression that drawing up the psychological profile would be my responsibility. I presume I've been demoted since Dr Lecter's arrival?" I asked, glancing at Jack.
"Assume differently, Grace. I would appreciate it if you would work with Dr Lecter in this instance, you might find his input somewhat of an inspiration, I'll take that," Jack took the drawing from my hands.
"What happened to your hand?" Jack added, nodding towards the light beige bandaging. I could see the knowing look in his eyes, the arching of his brow was inquisitive yet suspicious.
"No matter what I tell you, you won't believe me…" I paused, sighing, "But if you must know, I had a disagreement with a cup of hot coffee."
"Take a visit to Dr Lecter's office, see if he has the time to help you draw up a profile." With that, Jack sauntered off as if he was unaware of the insult he'd just delivered to me.
"I don't need help with this, Jack! I'm fine!" I yelled in return, the only thing stopping me from kicking and punching was the fact that there was a chance I'd damage evidence.
My knuckles hit gently against the door of Hannibal Lecter's office, I didn't like to admit when I was hit with nervousness – but in this case, I was certainly on edge. The incident with the cup of coffee could have been a genuine accident but I had trouble believing in anything accidental these days. To me, everything was premeditated.
"Agent Ryan, this is a surprise," Dr Lecter stated, his eyes widening just slightly.
"Jack Crawford urged me to pay you a visit in regards to the copycat case, if you're busy, I don't mind waiting."
"Of course not, anything I help with specifically?" He asked, stepping aside to allow me to enter his office.
"Just a general profile to report to the team, I'm afraid there's a good chance I've been sent here by Jack purely to be kept out of the way of any serious investigation processes," I paused looking around Hannibal's office "This is incredible," I said, once again I was taking notice of the details – the things in his office were carefully posed, placed to further colour the walls he had built up around his true self. The careful placement of books and statues, sculptures and innocent sketches…this office did not reflect the true Hannibal Lecter.
"Thank you, I take great pride in appearances," He motioned towards one of the large, comfortable looking chairs and I sat down timidly, my discomfort growing.
"If you don't mind me asking, you mentioned that Jack was trying to keep you out of the way…what exactly did you mean by that, Agent?" Hannibal sat opposite me, his leg crossed elegantly over the other and his hands joined in his lap. His posture was strong and balance, it echoed with the effort of rehearsal.
"I thought you were hired to analyze Will…not me," I laughed and much to my relief, Hannibal smiled, if only for a second.
"Force of habit, I'm afraid Miss Ryan." He had discarded the use of the term agent in an attempt to promote his authority, it was a subtle and intelligent move but it didn't go unnoticed. I arched my back against the seat and made the conscious decision not to show Hannibal Lecter any sign of submission.
"Jack asked me to come back to work, I didn't ask him. If he decides to push me out of the investigation, he can do that. This investigation isn't any different to the others, we find the shrike, we don't. We find the copycat or we don't." The words fell from my mouth before my brain had a chance to stop them and I quickly stood from the chair, ignoring the inquisitive frown upon Hannibal's brow.
"Will believes the copycat is unlikely to be caught, a sadist…his killings will be random, untied, the motive is currently unknown so there's no way to tie in other Doe murders. Do you agree?" I asked, using the time to stroll towards Hannibal's desk. Nonchalantly I picked at the papers lying there and took it upon myself to sit in his desk chair, swinging in casual semi circles. The twitch was there again, above his left eye, he cleared his throat and raised his chin slightly – I kept my eyes fixed on his.
"I agree for the most part, yes," He stated, his stare piercing and unrelenting, "I don't think you're giving the copycat enough credit. He knows the shrike, understands him."
"That girl was splayed out there in that field without a shred of dignity of respect – if the copycat understood the shrike…he would leave him a message that was better suited. The copycat is either trying to insult the shrike…or it isn't about him at all. It's about us, about the FBI…about Will," I paused, "That girl in the field wasn't for the shrike, he doesn't understand or respect the shrike, this is merely an opportunity."
I left Hannibal's office with my notepad in hand, filled to the brim with sensibly pinpointed and organised thoughts to examine further. Yet my head was the exact opposite, a muddle of material that would soon make up my nightmares.